Three in the country

Spring sounds across the fields
and sunlit patches of ancient mountain ridge
in humming drones
and trilling, twittering harmonies.

Wood slats creek under urban feet
suddenly so distant
from daily cares; chores
and burdens,
bound up and thrown out the window
to bounce along the highway as metallic blurs buzzed by
at breakneck speeds.

We, murmured to stereo sounds
and speculated about life
and love. Thoughts
lingered on moments.
And the road, turned to gravel, wound
under canopies of freshly budded branches.
The shadow and sun danced
across our windshield,
afternoon distractions that we welcomed.

And here.
Here, the air passes through hair and over
skin, too pale from winter days.

Green silence is
broken
as evening creeps
over the tree-lined peaks and songs
celebrating the ecstasy of nothing in particular
sound from the breasts of one hundred
birds.

Sitting in reverent silence at our table,
as coals smolder at our side,
each of us knows instinctively
that we all share the same thought:
how did it take us so long to be here?